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<title>i found my hand is holding yours (do you want to go home so soon?) by bellawritess</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26565634">i found my hand is holding yours (do you want to go home so soon?)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess'>bellawritess</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>5 Seconds of Summer (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff without Plot, Holding Hands, M/M, New York City, Rating for Language, That's it, and nyc romanticization, but apparently TMH didn't go to nyc???, for emily i guess :)), in my mind this is probably TMH 5sos, so anyway its probably like 19x17 or thereabouts, so just. pretend they did, they say fuck once, this is so much fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:13:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,181</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26565634</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“God,” Luke murmurs, breath clouding before his face, “this is pretty.”</p><p>And Ashton has to agree, but he’s watching Luke.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i found my hand is holding yours (do you want to go home so soon?)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>TURNS OUT that not only do i project my sadness onto lashton i also project my ridiculous adoration for new york city !! this fic was written between the hours of 4-7am last night. i should not have stayed up until 7am to write it, but i did. you know what i did NOT write from 4-7am last night? the paper i need to write that is due on monday! but you know what. you can't win em all</p><p>this fic also conceptually inspired by <a href="https://calumcest.tumblr.com/post/626645093812666368/love-would-burn-this-city-down-for-you">love would burn this city down for you</a>, a stunning fic <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/softirwin/pseuds/softirwin">helen</a> wrote where she romanticized the fuck out of london. if she can do it then so can i, i say</p><p>anyway. point being that if it doesn't make sense that's because i WROTE it at 5am kfgmdgsj that's going to become my defense for every single fic oh you think it's incoherent? well can't blame bella she did WARN you it was written when she should've been sleeping</p><p>title is from new york by ed sheeran :))) &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“God,” Luke murmurs, breath clouding before his face, “this is pretty.”</p><p>And Ashton has to agree, but he’s watching Luke.</p><p>Even surrounded by the lights of New York City, it’s hard not to watch Luke. Most people’s faces reflect the light; Luke’s catches it, absorbs it, weaves it into his skin. Under lights, Luke glows so fucking bright, and Ashton’s never stared straight into the sun, but he imagines it would feel something like this. Just watching Luke light up like this, a slow, awed smile growing on his face from the magnitude of the city.</p><p>Too late, Ashton says, “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”</p><p>Luke finally turns, and the brilliance doesn’t dim when he faces Ashton. He reaches out and takes Ashton’s hand, and Ashton just interlaces their fingers. He’s lucky. He knows that. Some people go their whole lives and never get to experience Luke Hemmings. </p><p>“Walk with me?” Luke asks, so, so pretty under the midnight gleam of the city lights, and Ashton feels fond, pliant under Luke’s will.</p><p>“Of course,” he says weakly.</p><p>The smile on Luke’s face grows impossibly brighter, and he tugs happily on Ashton’s arm, almost skipping down the pavement of Fifth Avenue. They cross when the crosswalk light is red, because Luke insists that “if we don’t, people will <em> know </em> we’re tourists,” never mind that nobody’s paying them any attention at all. Somehow, in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world, Luke and Ashton are wholly undercover. This must be part of the magic of New York City, Ashton thinks; you can be anyone, or you can be no one. If you want to blend into the background, melt into the shadows, it will let you. </p><p>Luke pulls him eagerly past mom-and-pop stores that have closed for the night, bars and one-dollar pizza places that proudly boast 24/7 hours, trashy souvenir shops that Ashton has to physically drag Luke away from, because they’re all tourist traps, and <em> no, Luke, you already have a shirt that says “I &lt;3 New York,” and you never wear it, so why would you buy another one</em>. </p><p>As they approach Midtown, Luke veers sharply to the right. “I want to see Broadway,” he explains, and Ashton doesn’t care where they go anyway, content to just be along for the ride. Luke is having the time of his life, so utterly charmed by the Manhattan dichotomy: glitz and glamour on one hand, and grit and grunge on the other. It doesn’t matter to Ashton where they go, as long as Luke doesn’t let go of his hand.</p><p>As they pass Radio City Music Hall, Luke is momentarily lured off-course. Ashton stumbles across the road after him, tightening his grip on Luke’s hand so they’re not separated, but Luke comes to a halt in front of Radio City, and just lingers. Their hands hang loosely between them both. Ashton steps closer.</p><p>“One day,” he says, and Luke exhales and glances over at Ashton. “We’ll play it,” Ashton says confidently. “One day.”</p><p>It must be the right thing to say, because Luke’s smile, which had become wistful, grows clear again. The red and blue of the neon lights mingle together as they settle over Luke’s face, bathing him in a hazy purple glow. “I know,” he says reverently, staring still at the building before them, a monument to something they have yet to achieve. “I know that, you know? I shouldn’t, but I do.”</p><p>“I know,” Ashton murmurs, and gives himself, too, a moment to stare. If he gets out of his head enough, he can see that it’s just a building like any other. There’s nothing intimidating about a building. And they <em> will </em> play it. It’s not confidence in Luke’s voice as much as it is sheer premonition. Ashton feels it in his bones. This rollercoaster they’re on has a long way up to go before they finally hit the decline.</p><p>A taxi speeds past, honking violently and jolting Luke from his reverie. He lists to the side, a too-happy grin across his face, and presses a warm kiss to Ashton’s jaw. “I only know it because you do,” he says easily, while Ashton’s heart rate picks up. He can blame it on the taxi startling him, but there’s no point in lying to himself. “You’re the heart, Ashton. The confidence is all yours.”</p><p>“I don’t know that it is,” Ashton says, as Luke starts them off again, strolling past Radio City.</p><p>“It is. You’re the defibrillator.”</p><p>“That means nothing, Luke.”</p><p>“No, you are!” Luke insists. “You jump-started us.”</p><p>“Then I wouldn’t be the heart. A defibrillator <em> starts </em> the heart, I’m pretty sure.”</p><p>“Well,” Luke says, but this seems to stump him, because he falls silent. Ashton chuckles and squeezes Luke’s hand. </p><p>“Trust me,” he says. “I’m not the heart. I’m just a gear. But so are all of you.”</p><p>“Well, I don’t know about Michael.”</p><p>Ashton laughs. “I’m telling him you said that.”</p><p>“No, do <em> not </em> tell him I said that.” Luke giggles. “Actually, you can. I don’t care. He’ll just say it back, probably. We’ve come a long way.”</p><p>Ashton thinks that’s pretty self-evident, given the whole band thing, but he just smiles to himself. Luke gasps. </p><p>“Got it,” he says. “You’re the defibrillator <em> and </em> the heart. You jump-started yourself. And the rest of us. Four for the price of one.”</p><p>“Luke,” Ashton says, “you’re not making sense.”</p><p>“I’m making sense,” Luke huffs. “<em>You </em> just don’t want to admit that you’re the heart of the band, but you <em> are </em>.”</p><p>Ashton shakes his head. “It’s not fair to say there’s a heart of the band. That’s demeaning to the other members. Everyone is the heart for different reasons.”</p><p>Luke hums, considering this. “Maybe everyone’s just different parts of the body for the band.”</p><p>“Who’s the brain, then?”</p><p>“Also you, obviously.”</p><p>Ashton laughs again. They haven’t drunk anything, but Luke seems tipsy, and Ashton wonders about the effect of New York City, wonders if they fill the air with some kind of aphrodisiac, something that blinds everyone with rose-colored glasses. Wonders if he’s fallen victim to it, too. He’d like to think he’s more level-headed than that, but anyway, it’s not like he could be <em> more </em> in love with Luke.</p><p>(He could. He could, and very much is, every single second Luke’s hand is in his, warm palm pressed against Ashton’s.)</p><p>“I think you’re the heart,” he objects, and Luke makes a noise of protest. “Well, if anyone’s going to be, I mean. You were the first.”</p><p>“And you were the last,” Luke says thoughtfully. “And without you we’d be nowhere.”</p><p>“But without <em> you </em> we’d be nowhere.” They cross the street, and then cross another, as Luke ponders this response.</p><p>“Okay, compromise,” he says. “We’re both the heart. We all are. God, this is so pretty. Isn’t this just — I could look at this city forever.”</p><p>Ashton can’t help the way his eyes are drawn instead to Luke’s profile. The street lamps cast most of his face in shadows, but when he turns his head to look to the right, the glare skips over his cheekbones, contouring his expression with lackluster rays.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says for the second time, and this time is too late to avert his eyes when Luke’s gaze swings around to lock onto his. A blush rises in Ashton’s cheeks, but Luke just looks pleased.</p><p>They walk in companionable silence for a little while, down the length of 50th Street, Luke swinging their conjoined hands between them like a little kid. Ashton times their footsteps to walk in sync. On either side of them, scaffolding conceal storefronts that probably advertise the same things as all the other exposed ones they’ve passed: pizza or cheaply-made but unreasonably-priced souvenirs. It crosses Ashton’s mind to buy one, just to say he bought something. That must be the Manhattan aphrodisiac oxygen talking. Nobody is immune, it seems.</p><p>The amount of people milling about when they hit Seventh Avenue takes Ashton by surprise, incredibly. He’s accustomed well enough to big cities, but — this one behaves as though there <em> is </em> no nighttime. It’s just as active right now as it would be in a normal city at five in the evening. Ashton is abruptly gripped with the fear of being swept up by the masses, of becoming one of the masses.</p><p>Luke tugs impatiently on Ashton’s arm, apparently unaffected by the knowledge that when people say New York City never sleeps, they <em> mean </em> it. He gives Ashton a wide-eyed smile, and Ashton’s heart makes up its own rhythm, one that Ashton might have to steal and set to music for how uniquely irregular it is.</p><p>“Times Square?” he asks Ashton, sweet and earnest.</p><p>“Okay,” Ashton says, and lets Luke lead him down Seventh Avenue.</p><p>The closer they get to Times Square, the more cramped the billboards and massive screens become. They flood the streets with light, creating the illusion of daytime close to the ground; if Ashton never looks up at the sky, he can kid himself that it’s high noon, that this is a normal time for this many people to be out and about. It’s so different, here, from anywhere Ashton’s ever been, and it’s captivating.</p><p>It helps that Luke is here, his dogged guide despite being only minimally more oriented than Ashton, and that only because Luke has spent hours staring at pictures of Manhattan, mumbling numbers under his breath, marking up a printed map with a red pen, circling places and drawing arrows here and there, as if to remind himself to keep them in mind. Times Square had been circled several times, aggressively, which strikes Ashton now as unnecessary. As if Luke could ever <em> forget </em> to be in love with Times Square.</p><p>Ashton doesn’t know much about the city, but he knows that going to Times Square just to see Times Square is just about the most tourist-y thing there is to do. But here they are anyway.</p><p>(Anything to keep that smile on Luke’s face.)</p><p>“Hey, M&amp;M store,” he says as they come up on 48th Street. “I can get a picture of you, if you want.”</p><p>Luke shakes his head. “We’ll come back when it’s daytime,” he says. “Then I can buy M&amp;M merch. You can take a picture then.”</p><p>They won’t have free time for the whole rest of their stop in New York, but Ashton just lets it slide. Luke probably knows that. Ashton suspects Luke means that they’ll come back some other <em> day,</em> possibly some other month or year. He likes Luke’s optimism, likes sharing it.</p><p>Luke’s eyes won’t stop wandering, skimming this way and that as the signs around them change, the longer they walk. They cross 47th and Luke speeds up, spotting the TKTS booth and the famous Times Square stairs that succeed it. Ashton allows himself to be pulled, succumbing to Luke’s enthusiasm. There are people here, of course, like everywhere, but nobody seems to care when Luke lets go of Ashton’s hand to race over to the stairs. </p><p>(Nobody but Ashton, who misses the contact the moment it’s gone.)</p><p>“Imagine performing <em> here, </em>” Luke says, grinning with a degree of exhilaration. Ashton strides over to Luke and steps up beside him, facing out at their most apathetic audience yet. It feels strangely good, to stand up in front of people who could not possibly care less to see them there. But it’s also pushing their luck a little bit, so Ashton steps down, offering a hand to Luke.</p><p>“It would be difficult,” he says, and Luke takes his hand graciously, linking their fingers again. The chill from the air that had begun settling comfortably along Ashton’s palm immediately surrenders again to the warmth of Luke’s. “Setting up a drum kit on a staircase would be a challenge.”</p><p>“You could set up in the front,” Luke suggests. “Be frontman for a day.”</p><p>“Oh, no,” Ashton says. “That is strictly a Luke role, thank you.”</p><p>Luke sighs. “I guess it is.”</p><p>They walk leisurely away from the stairs. Ashton doesn’t offer to take a picture of Luke; if he’d wanted one, he’d have asked. “Don’t sound so glum. It makes sense. You’re the prettiest member, you’ve got to be the frontman.”</p><p>Luke gives a startled laugh that Ashton can see in the air. “You only say that because you’ve never had to look at you.”</p><p>Butterflies cloud up in Ashton’s ribcage, beating their wings furiously around his chest. He wants to ask what Luke means, but it would ruin the moment; Luke would shy away, or else explain it as something totally friendly, and the melody of Luke’s voice indirectly calling Ashton pretty would be scribbled over with whatever dissonant explanation he might give.</p><p>“Where are we going?” he asks instead, a little breathless.</p><p>“Here,” Luke says, slowing to a stop on the corner of the median, where 7th meets 46th. Ashton slows with him. Everywhere they look, colossal screens advertising any number of things greet them, flashing illumination over them and the streets and the city. Ashton watches the commercials change for a couple minutes, then gives up the ruse and watches Luke instead.</p><p>Luke is captivated, turning in an idle circle on the spot, basically slack-jawed. If it were anyone else it would be funny, and if it were Calum or Michael, Ashton knows he would crack a joke, maybe snap a photo for later mockery. He’d definitely not gaze helplessly like he is now.</p><p>It’s just impossible not to. There are so many beautiful things in the world, and Ashton <em> knows </em> he hasn’t seen them all, hasn’t even seen a fraction, but standing here with Luke, he can’t find it in himself to care. Luke is the most beautiful of things, and Ashton knows, <em> knows </em> he’ll never find anything better. His heart is full, light and heavy at the same time, tripping on its beat when Luke’s hand slips from his own to complete his circle only to immediately find it again once he’s finished.</p><p>“You’re not even looking,” Luke says quietly, smiling like it’s an inside joke Ashton should know about.</p><p>“I’ve got all the view I need right here,” Ashton says. Maybe there <em> is </em> something about Manhattan air. Luke’s cheeks are pink, and with this line they darken.</p><p>“Yeah, but,” he says, gesturing half-heartedly with his free hand. “Manhattan.”</p><p>Ashton shifts his weight. “I’d rather watch you enjoy Manhattan than see Manhattan itself.”</p><p>Luke ducks his head. “Don’t — don’t say that.”</p><p>There’s a dull feeling of panic rising in Ashton’s chest, and he tries with difficulty to swallow it down. “Okay,” he says. “Sorry.” It’s too much. Ashton’s gone too far. This was fun, but it was just supposed to be that, and now Ashton’s embarrassed Luke, laid himself bare for nothing. Potentially ruined Luke’s new favorite city.</p><p>“No, I mean — you can say it,” Luke says quickly. He laughs, short and nervous. “I just can’t believe you think that.”</p><p>“You should see yourself,” Ashton says, not unkindly. </p><p>“You should see <em> your</em>self,” Luke counters, and reaches for the collar of Ashton’s flannel. Ashton feels his face heat up as Luke adjusts it. “I wish you would say what you mean,” he admits, finished with Ashton’s shirt, apparently either satisfied or bored.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Exactly that,” Luke says. He meets Ashton’s eyes, a kaleidoscope of color, patchwork of the light around them. It makes Ashton <em> want </em> to say what he means, but the bravery gets stuck in his throat.</p><p>“I said what I meant,” Ashton says feebly. “I like watching you enjoy the city. That’s all.”</p><p>Luke frowns, but only for a moment. “Oh,” he says. And then, “Okay. I’m glad.” And then, “We should go back to the hotel, probably.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ashton manages, feeling stupid and cowardly and hating the look on Luke’s face. It seems impossible that saying what Ashton really means could bring Luke’s smile back, but withholding the truth hadn’t done it, and he’s running low on options.</p><p>Luke glances down at their hands. Panic shoots through Ashton, and he grips Luke’s hand tighter; Luke looks up at him, smiling again though not <em> nearly </em> as broadly as he had been. He takes off down 7th, and Ashton, forever and always, follows him.</p><p>They don’t talk on the way back, and they don’t stop as much. Ashton still catches Luke’s eyes skating over every single shop, every vaguely interesting-looking person they pass, every graffitied street sign. He doesn’t smile at them this time, but Ashton can see him collecting every piece, scrapbooking them in his mind to look back at later. </p><p>It’s enchanting to watch Luke be in love with the city, or it had been, before, when he’d been smiling at everything. Now he looks more pensive than anything, and Ashton wonders if this is still Luke in love, or if Luke’s smile had maybe been caused by something other than Manhattan. Something more changeable than the infinity of the lights and signs and screens and buildings and windows and scaffolding and cracked pavement of New York City.</p><p>The hotel finally appears, growing closer. They both slow down as they reach the pavement that leads to the doors. Luke stops completely, and he pulls his hand from Ashton’s, shoving it instead in the pocket of his jeans.</p><p>“Thanks for coming with me,” he tells Ashton, although he really tells Ashton’s shoes.</p><p>“Of course,” Ashton says. He almost says <em> anytime, </em> which he would mean; almost says <em> my pleasure, </em> almost <em> I’ll go with you wherever you want to go, </em> almost <em> I love spending time with you. </em> He would mean all of that, but only because it’s talking around what he <em> actually </em> means. There’s one thing at the core of all these thoughts, and Luke’s still smiling without really smiling, and the only thing that’s changed between leaving this hotel and returning to it is Ashton keeping his cards too close to his chest.</p><p>“Well,” Luke says, like he’s going to continue to say <em> we should go inside, I guess</em>.</p><p>“I really like you, you know,” Ashton confesses, hoping hoping hoping that this is as much what Luke had meant as what Ashton does. Luke’s head jerks up, and their eyes meet. Ashton nearly loses his nerve. “I didn’t mean to make you think I don’t. It’s just, I don’t know. I thought that wasn’t — that you wouldn’t want me to, so. I didn’t want to say.”</p><p>“I’m glad you did,” Luke says. The smile from before is crawling slowly back, reclaiming its place. “I really like you too, you know.”</p><p>“Oh,” Ashton says breathlessly. Despite the brisk wind, he feels flushed with heat. “I — I didn’t think — I wasn’t sure.”</p><p>Luke rocks on his feet. “I really like it here,” he says, apropos of nothing apparent. “But only with you. With everyone, I mean, but mostly you.”</p><p>Ashton smiles sheepishly. “Well, I’ll come to Manhattan with you anytime you want.”</p><p>He means that one hundred percent, and thinks, from Luke’s smile, that Luke can probably tell.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>have realized that this fic does not qualify for the first kiss tag TRAGEDY but sometimes we must make sacrifices for the integrity of the narrative OH WELL anyway. i'm on tumblr <a href="http://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/">@clumsyclifford</a> so you are welcome to come say hello there !! lastly i would like everyone to know that i spent FULLY fifteen minutes last night in unspeakable torment because i couldn't remember the word aphrodisiac. never let anyone tell you art isn't suffering.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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